


Secretly in Need of Therapy

by theultimatenerd04



Series: Secretly What? [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And some therapy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Artist Peter Parker, Drawing, Gen, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Online art, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Secret Identity, Sketching, Social Media, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theultimatenerd04/pseuds/theultimatenerd04
Summary: First in the Secretly What? seriesBen was the one who taught Peter to draw. He grew to love it, to cherish the time that his uncle spent teaching him. When his uncle died, Peter couldn't bear to even look at his old sketchbook, throwing it in the back of his closet in a fit of rage. But when May makes him clean his room, Peter finds the book and in doing so, rediscovers a part of himself he never knew was missing.
Relationships: Ben Parker & May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ben Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Series: Secretly What? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734910
Comments: 10
Kudos: 211
Collections: The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics





	Secretly in Need of Therapy

Hatred. It’s a strong word. A stronger feeling. There are not many times Peter could say that he had felt it. Once, when Uncle Ben was killed. Twice, just now. The trigger wasn’t much. May had been nagging him to clean his room for the last few weeks and finally put her foot down, saying he was grounded until he did it. It was then that he found it. Lying innocuously at the back of his closet, a broken stick of charcoal and an old sketchbook. 

Peter stared at it. He thought he had thrown the damn thing out ages ago. It couldn’t be the same one. It couldn’t be. But he had never owned another sketchbook, not since… Not since Ben died. It was Ben that taught him the art of how to translate feelings, emotions onto paper. With two objects, he could create worlds. There was no limit to what one could do.

They couldn’t afford art classes but even if they did, Peter wouldn’t have wanted to go. He remembered staying up way past his bedtime, waiting for Ben to come home from the police station. The door would open and Ben’s infectious laugh would stir the apartment, making everything feel just that little bit brighter. Peter would hold out his old sketchbook and a smile would tug at the edges of Ben’s mouth. 

”Remember our deal.” He would say. ”No telling your aunt. She would kill me if she knew you were staying up so late.” 

And so it became a tradition. Every Friday and Saturday night - because not even Ben would let him stay up that late on a school night - they would sit together, crammed on the couch and Ben would coach him in the art of sketching. It came one of the moments he most looked forward to. 

But then it was ripped away, just like any good thing in Peter's life.

In the months after Ben’s death, Peter tried to draw. Every piece he made just seemed empty. It didn't speak to him in the same way. Ben always used to tell him that the difference between a good artwork and a great one was the emotion you put in but without Ben, he had no emotion. 

He had shoved the sketchbook into the back of his closet in a fit of rage and vowed to never touch it again. Drawing would never be the same without the man who taught him. May tried to coax him into buying a new one time and time again. She said that it might help him move on. He didn’t want to move on. Moving on would mean leaving Ben and all the memories they’d made together behind. Peter couldn’t do that. 

But here he was, staring at the remnants of a happier time. A tear slipped from his eye. It felt like his soul was being pulled in two different directions, one side yearning for the solace drawing gave him and the other resisting. Always resisting. He just wanted to feel at peace. That’s all he ever wanted. 

Tentative hands picked up the book, carefully brushing off the dust. He flipped to the last page. He may be willing to try to draw again but Peter didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to see images he’d drawn of Ben and May, happy in their innocence. Picking up the longer half of the charcoal, he pressed it onto the page and started to draw. 

At first, it didn’t look like anything. Certainly nothing like anything he’d drawn before. He used to specialise in realistic sketches of scenes that were in front of him. This, this looked like a black hole, sucking in everything around it. That was how he felt. Peter was surrounded by an aura of death and depression and he pulled everyone towards him until they couldn’t help but feel it too. It had a darker meaning than anything he’d ever drawn before but he was darker. Peter had changed and somehow, this sketch felt right. 

An hour later, he put down the charcoal and placed the drawing in his desk. He used to proudly show off anything he’d drawn but this felt different. It was personal. A representation of his purest self, as close as he could get. 

He lay down on his bed, marvelling at the sudden lack of weights on his chest. It was the first time in what seemed like forever he had felt this light. All the pent up emotions he’d been hiding in fear of scaring May had lessened. He was in control now and Peter wasn’t going to let this feeling go. Ben had taught him to use this gift for good and now Peter would. 

He was already helping people through Spiderman and this would help him be better. As Spiderman, he couldn’t afford to have anything wrong with him, mentally or physically. Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew that as Spiderman, he would have to deal with somethings. In the weeks after the situation with the Vulture, Peter did some research. He learnt all about PTSD. The frequent nightmares, the flashbacks whenever he was in a car park, they were all signs. He knew he needed to take better care of himself, otherwise he would stuff up and fail to save someone. There was no excuse for that. 

Peter had a plan and he was going to stick to it. Drawing was going to be his form of therapy. By helping himself, he would ensure that no one else would get hurt because of him. 

———

Whenever Peter felt overwhelmed or stressed, he would draw. His desk drawer slowly filled up and a strange sense of pride filled him whenever he opened it. Peter was helping himself. In that moment, he felt like an adult, dealing with their own problems without relying on anyone else. He was sure Ben would be proud. 

He started drawing scenes again, scenes from his patrols, scenes of himself and May. Memories of Ben. If he didn’t, the memories would start to get misty and then would slowly fade away until they were nothing more than a subconscious ‘huh, that seems familiar’.Peter never wanted that to happen to his memories of Ben. He didn’t want to forget. Like with most of his problems, drawing seemed to help. He could immortalise the treasured moments, make sure they would never leave him. 

During that moment of realisation, Peter felt in control. He wasn’t quite happy yet but he was closer than he had been in a very long time. 

”Peter! Come out of your room. It’s dinner time!”

”Coming May!”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos fuel my soul and my desire to write so don't forget to leave one behind before you depart into the internet void!


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